


The forest for the trees

by meeks (the9999th)



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, George has been dealing with this for far too long, It's the early years and things are going well, M/M, No homo (but actually yes homo), People just assume Ringo knows, he doesn't because no one tells him anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the9999th/pseuds/meeks
Summary: 5 times Ringo doesn't catch on and one time he does.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	The forest for the trees

**Author's Note:**

> Set during a not further defined America tour.
> 
> Just in case any lawyer is reading this: no, I do not claim that this is factual or even true to character, I just had a bad night's sleep too many.

1.  
He's just turning in for the night and passes the door separating the room Paul and John share from the rest of the suite (one of the many perks being the headline act on a tour gets you - no more bus nights) when he hears it. He didn't think anyone but him was still awake, what with the show and then the post-show drinks, but clearly John has managed to pull a bird at some nebulous point, as there's a barely suppressed moan from the other side of the door and then John's voice, attempting a whisper.

"Hush, darling, don't wanna wake the others."  
And yeah, that's odd, he's never heard John call any girl darling, this side of the pond they go crazy for an accented 'love', and it's a bit sappy besides, but what do you know, sometimes the occasion calls for it.

Anyways, he's surprised that Paul has been willing to switch sleeping in a comfortable bed for a kip on the floor of some crew members' room in order for John to get a leg over, seeing as they had a massive row just shy of throwing punches not two hours ago. But that's true friendship, he supposes.  
He moves on and is half asleep by the time he gets into bed.

When he meets a bleary eyed Paul at the breakfast table the next morning, he tries to sympathize with him about the whole situation and asks: "So, whose floor did you sleep on?"   
But Paul just gives him a confused look. "What? The suite's on the, uhh, 18th floor, I think?"   
Ringo pats him on the shoulder anyway, he's probably just tired from a lackluster night's sleep. 

2.  
They're about to go on stage, and John and Paul are nowhere to be found. George sends him to check out back, citing some restringing that he apparently needs to do himself in order to get out of it. Well, fine. He can play babysitter, it's not like they've hired anyone for that. 

It's busy backstage, endless identical hallways buzzing with people in a hurry are trying to do their jobs. The air is thick and seems almost oppressive, though the most grating thing is the distant roar of the crowd. This far back it's more a thing that's felt rather than heard, but it still makes it hard for him to really relax. 

The dressing rooms are empty and so is the small room with the catering set-up for the crew.   
He pushes the back door of the venue open, more in hopes of a breath of fresh air than actually finding them, and catches the hectic end of some shuffle between his band mates.  
They're red-faced and neither has their tie properly tied, though Paul immediately starts to fix his.

"What's going on, Ringo?" John asks, clearly trying to sound less out of breath than he is.  
"We're on in five minutes" he tells them, "if you're done fighting, that is." He doesn't even consider any other option, they've been doing nothing else but needle each other the entire tour, it had to come down to some shoving sooner or later. It happens to the best of them, what with all the stress and pressure. 

"Oh! We'll be just - five minutes, yeah, we'll have this settled by then -" they exchange glances Ringo can't even begin to decipher, so he just turns and lets the door click shut again.

By the time they're ready to go on stage, all ties are straight and there's just the tiniest bit of red left to Paul's cheeks.

3.  
It's a good thing the hotel they're staying at offers a long breakfast, because by the time Paul appears downstairs, the clocks are chiming half past nine. He looks rougher than usual, moving about rather carefully, dark circles under his eyes. When he sits down next to his three friends, his shirt collar shifts just enough to reveal deep purple bruises shaped rather distinctly like teeth littering his collarbone.

George whistles. "Long night, Macca?"  
Paul sends a seething glare round the table, smothering any comments Ringo might have had at the ready before he even opens his mouth.  
He chances a glance at John, who normally doesn't shy away from some lighthearted ribbing between friends, but he's silently staring at Paul's lovebites with a strange glint in his eyes. If Ringo didn't know any better, he'd describe that look as a mix between smug and something almost - yearning? 

When he speaks, it's not to take a jab at Paul, but to complain about the bus journey that's going to take up most of their day today.  
The others join in, discussing possibilities for the card game of the day, until one of their crewmembers ('handlers', as John has dubbed them) comes over to tell them that they have half an hour left to pack before the bus leaves, "with or without you lads!"

4.  
It's another post show party, this time in an actual club, bigger than the ones at home (as is everything in America, Ringo supposes).   
They've long split up, only occasionally catching glimpses of the others, progressively getting absolutely sloshed. 

He's at the bar for the god knows what time and has just managed to spot Paul on the dance floor. He's surrounded by Americans, dressed up in that strangely casual way they all seem to have in common, and is apparently having the time of his life. Girls hanging off him left and right, a drink in his hand and bopping along to the lyricless music blasting. 

It must be gone midnight, and they're promised to half a dozen journalists and TV people for the next morning, so it might be time to get going. He's just about to consult Paul on this thought when John materialises out of nowhere next to him, just barely standing upright. He still manages to level a glare into the general direction of the crowd gathered around Paul, though.   
"What's wrong, you jealous, kiddo?" He has to shout directly into John's ear to make himself understood.   
"An' what if I was? Doesn' really change much, doesnnit?"   
"Maybe a compliment or two would get you further than biting sarcasm, just a thought!" 

Before he can get another word out, Paul breaks loose from his circle of adoring fans and makes his way over to them.   
"I think it's time to leave!" he yells, echoing Ringo's earlier thought.   
"George'sss left twenny minutes ago, how booooring" is John's rather slurred contribution.   
Paul sighs and hoists John's arm over his shoulder, supporting most of his friend's weight as they make their way outside. Luckily, a cab (do they call them that here, Ringo wonders) pulls up just as they reach the kerb and they manage to pile in the back seat without any mishaps. 

They sit in silence for a while, John not once breaking eye contact with Paul, almost pitching forward as the cab takes a sharp turn.   
"What?" Paul asks, sounding rather amused at John's antics.   
"You're, just sooo so pretty, Paul, y'know? Really - a real looker, really - I think it's the eyes, very - good eyes, Paul, you have good eyes!"   
Paul rolls said eyes, suppressing a grin. "Thank you, John."   
Apparently satisfied, John sits back. By the time they reach the hotel, he's dead to the world. 

5.  
It's another early morning, and another John-less breakfast, as he refuses to get up before 7. Eventually, Paul gets up. "I'll go see if I can get him up and moving, maybe for once we could try to be on time."   
They nod. Paul gets like that sometimes and it's best to just leave him to it. Besides, the breakfast buffet is really nice. 

15 minutes later, there's still no sign of John.   
"Well, let's head up. Paul's right, y'know, it would be nice to be on time." George says, and so they take the lift to their suite. 

When they enter the shared sitting space, there isn't a single noise to suggest someone frantically getting ready, nor any sign of the semi-heated argument that usually accompanies it. The common area is empty and Paul's room too, leaving the closed door across the hall from it as the only option.   
George shrugs. "Do you want the honors or do I have to?", which, that's a lot of drama for something as simple (and potentially even fun) as torturing their friend out of bed. He shrugs back.   
"Well, fine, I'll do it then, save you three steps." He knocks once, waits, knocks again. Nothing.   
"I better not regret this!" Why on earth does George have to be so goddamn cryptical all the time? Ringo has barely any time to contemplate this before George opens the door, takes two steps into the room and then immediately three back out, slamming the door shut again and cursing.   
Finally, there's the sound of movement from begind the closed-again door, even what sounds like the start of the typical argument. 

"Why? Why is it always me?" George laments. Back to the dramatics, it seems. Before Ringo can even begin to formulate a reply that could possibly fit, the door opens again to a sheepish Paul and still no John, though there is the sound of running water.   
"Sorry, Geo, didn't think you'd come up so soon."   
"I told you ten times _at least!_ to just lock the door!"   
"Yeah, uh, sorry again...John's up though, at least?"   
"Yes, yeah, I noticed that, thank you very much for reminding me - God, that'll be burned into my brain forever!" 

Is any of this supposed to make sense to him? Neither one of his band mates makes any attempt to clarify things to him, so he just tries his best to steer the conversation towards the tour, the schedule and weather and other things no one needs to be cryptic about because they're written out black on white and neatly stacked on the coffee table in the living area. George at least seems to appreciate his efforts and by the time John emerges with a packed suitcase in hand they're back to joking around. 

+1  
It's a travel day, the sun pressing into the bus through the big window panes, slowly heating the inside up until it feels like his brain should start to leak from his ears. They're all in various states of undress and just the thought of putting on a suit for their next show makes Ringo shudder.  
George seems to be occupied by alternatively reading a magazine and using it to create a breeze, sprawled across the only bench in the bus that's not in direct sunlight.  
He himself is dozing, if one can call it that, it feels more like just passing out from the sheer oppressive heat. He tries to remember if it was this hot outside, too, or if it's just the fact that the bus doesn't have many windows that actually open. Trying to form coherent thoughts seems a bit pointless, thought. Too much for his liquified brains.  
Clearly, John and Paul don't seem to share that sentiment. From the back of the bus drift pieces of melody, plucked out from an acoustic guitar, and lyrics that don't seem to fit together just yet. They're songwriting.

He pushes to his feet. While they don't really appreciate advice at this stage (he'll get to say his piece when they're actually in the studio), they do tolerate onlookers. It's a good show, Ringo has to admit, almost like a magic trick being performed over and over, all cues given through looks and the barest suggestion of words, and maybe it'll get his mind off of the heat.  
They barely look up as he approaches, the only sign that he's welcome to watch a small smile from Paul before he goes back to chewing on a pencil.   
"What do you think about..." a few chords, a short break, a variation.   
"Yes, that - maybe the second one, do that again -" obediently, Paul plays the variation again, adding to it. "Yes! That's good, it's good, d'ya have any lyrics?"   
It goes on for a while, them trading bits and pieces, cycling them between each other until they deem them worthy of being jotted down.   
Ringo dozes off again. 

The next time he focuses on the world, Paul has somehow managed to put his head in John's lap, despite the fact that the latter is still playing guitar. He's improvising a medley of a few different love songs - and isn't that a sight, John's notoriously vocal about his dislike of ballads.   
"- and all my loving, I will -"   
"No, that doesn't count, you can't serenade me with our own songs! And it's not even one you wrote!" Paul interrupts, though he doesn't sound too put out, nor does he lift his head or stop playing with the belt loop of John's jeans.   
"Sure I can, it's a love song fair and square!"  
"Honestly, I'm surprised that you haven't tried 'Please please me' on me yet."   
"Well, would it work?"   
"I'd like to say no, but sadly, it probably would - but only because I love you already, so don't get any ideas!"  
"Could you say that again, don't think I heard ya over this noisy old bus?" For all intents and purposes, he sound teasing and relaxed, but there's a distinct undercurrent of neediness that doesn't escape Ringo's notice. 

Paul sits up so quickly that he almost knocks the guitar to the ground, eyes never leaving John's face. They stare at each other for a silent moment, then John reaches up a hand to Paul's cheek, earning a sigh in response.   
"Oh, we talked about this - I'm in love with you, John, have been since about ten minutes after we met, and that's not going to change. You know you're it for me, yeah?"   
Ringo couldn't say who leans in first, or maybe they both do, some force or another pulling them in simultaneously, but next he knows they're kissing. It's a tender thing, much sweeter than he would've expected from two people who even fight about things they agree on. 

And oh - he's known them for over a year now, but suddenly all their little odd behaviors slide into place. And it fits so well he wonders how he didn't catch on before. 

When they break apart they're both smiling a private little smile, clearly not meant for anyone but each other. John swipes his thumb across a cheekbone, then puts on a dramatic voice fit for one of those romantic movies. "Oh darling, makes me feel like I couldn't do you no harm even if I wanted to!"   
He leans back in, and it's almost comical how Ringo can see the gears start to turn in Paul's head, who, instead of kissing back, shoves a hand against John's chest and reaches for a pen with the other.   
"That's brilliant, John, let me get this down before it's gone!"

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are, as always, appreciated but not mandatory!


End file.
